


Back To The Swamp

by Back_to_the_swamp



Category: Horror - Fandom, Original Work
Genre: Anxiety, Creepy, Demons, Evil, Haunting, Horror, Night Terrors
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-09
Updated: 2021-03-09
Packaged: 2021-03-15 11:41:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 353
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29932896
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Back_to_the_swamp/pseuds/Back_to_the_swamp
Summary: Compilation of original Creepypastas. Much more inspired by reality than you think.





	Back To The Swamp

It's already morning: I can see the sunlight from inside my eyelids. I hear Mom's voice; she is getting closer. She will surely come to wake me up. But, wait, since when does mom come to wake me up to bed?

I hear her humming softly. She is getting closer. My body begins to tense up at the red alert that pops up in my mind: she's not mom.

I try to open my eyes but I can't. I try it with all my strenght but I can't! My arms, my legs; nothing. The humming of her voice is already here. I can't see her, but I know she's on the side of the bed looking at me. She leans over me and I feel her anxious lips on mine, absorbing like a bee; taking all my air. I can't move my body, I can't push away what's on top of me. The pressure is stronger and stronger and when I think that my life ends here, my eyes pop wide open.

I am relieved to see the familiar white ceiling of my room. But the feeling of calm lasts very little and ends when I try to turn to the balcony to see the daylight. I can't move my body again. My arms, my legs; nothing. That's when I hear it again: footsteps. This time much heavier than the previous ones, not human at all, slowly surronding the bed. Going from my right, through my feet, to my left side. Slow and steady steps like something out of a cheap horror movie. 

My agony becomes immense at such helplessness; life does not even offer me the luxury of being able to look at the face of that stranger who haunts my bed. Upon reaching the level of my head the visitor stops. And so the longest seconds of my entire life pass.  
A cold sweat is already running down my temple when a grayish Xenomorph-shaped thing rushes over my face and the last thing I feel is an icy breeze on it.

Does this really happened? I leave it to your imagination.


End file.
